No Room, No Room!
by jjhatter
Summary: All tea parties need guests; what is a Hatter without a Hare? Better summary inside; please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, readers! Welcome to my newest story for the universe of Batman! A few quick, dull things that must be taken care of first...

Rating: T (for violence, torture, and possibly some disturbing imagery)

Disclaimer: I own no one here...except the March Hare. I made that character up. The rights to _Batman_ go to Bob Kane, DC Comics, and anyone else I failed to mention. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _and _Through the Looking-Glass_ belong to Lewis Carroll.

Summary: No tea party can be complete without friends. After all, what is a Hatter without a Hare? The origins of the March Hare, an OC who has already made appearances in my "BatAlice" series, currently consisting of _Batman: Thru Broken Glass_ and _Batman: Down Once More._

Notes: First of all, I thought this character up long before I discovered there was ALREADY a March Hare in the DC comics mainstream. The character that appears here is MINE. Also, while the first three or four chapters of this are already well thought out, the remainder of the tale has not yet been fully fledged; any suggestions for furthering the story are welcome, and appreciated. Now, without any further delays...

**Chapter 1: And This Was Odd, Because it Was the Middle of the Night...**

Rain soaked the roads and sidewalks of Gotham City. The storm had come like some monstrous crow, blackening the sky with its damp feathers, shaking them to get dry with great, crackling flaps of its wings.

Somewhere, along a dark street, a small man walked at a brisk pace. He paused, hearing footsteps behind him. Eyes narrowed, he turned swiftly...

A woman ran into a store, folding up her umbrella as she entered.

The man sighed softly, and pulled on the lapels of his dark raincoat, tilting the newsboy cap on his head down to cover his hazel eyes. With a chilled shiver, he hurried away again.

"'Oh, My EaRs AnD wHiSkErS...hOw LaTe It'S gEtTiNg!'" he whispered to himself.

He was, indeed, very late, he thought, as he gazed at his wristwatch; his proper watch had been left in the care of those at the abandoned apartment building he was to be his new "house." He had to hurry; there was no telling when the Sun had gone down past the clouds. This could be good thing for him, he realized…but the chances were that the Jabberwock had other ways of knowing.

The instant the Sun was out of sight, he'd be looking for him.

He could not allow himself to get caught…not yet.

He hustled around a corner, eager to get home. He was cold, wet, and hungry, his escape hastily made; Tweedledee had sent him word on where their new headquarters could be found, and he was glad that his mercurial mind allowed him a good memory.

They'd have a better watch, and his best suit and hat, waiting for him there.

So would pass the rough raincoat he bore now.

He grumbled softly, and broke into a jog; the sooner he arrived at the spot where his "chauffer" was waiting, the better. He couldn't have them waiting all night...

"Oh, WoN't ShE bE sAvAgE iF I'vE kEpT hEr WaItInG..."

He passed by the entrance to Park Row, a.k.a. Crime Alley, the most infamous part of the city. He shivered, but not from the cold; even people like himself feared this area. He gazed at the alley for a moment longer, and prepared to take his leave…

_"Urrrgh…"_

Jervis Tetch froze mid-step. He turned back toward the alley.

_Somebody moaning…?_

He looked on for a moment, trying to find the source of the sound, then shrugged and began on his way again.

_None of my concern… "it may rain outside, if it chooses. We've no objection. Contrariwise."_

He had barely taken three steps when…

_"UUUrrrRRRgh…"_

He bit his lip.

_That was louder than before…_

After another moment's pause, he sighed.

The Mad Hatter was a vicious man: he had no qualms with turning women and senior citizens into mindless zombies with his hypno-chips. With the smallest assortment of scrap metal available, he could turn his hat into a weapon of mass destruction, or a teapot into a grenade. In a REALLY upset state, he could tear people twice his size apart with his bare hands, or cut their throats open with playing cards, or cut off a person's head using classroom scissors and never flinch away at all.

But he was a sucker for kids, and he hated to sound of a young person in distress.

Torn between his party and the last shred of his conscience he had, he groaned and darted into the alley, a hand on the small pistol in his pocket; there was but one shot in it left.

He hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

The moaning came from a dumpster nearby.

Raising an eyebrow curiously, the Hatter walked toward it.

When he peered inside, he nearly fell over in surprise.

_Curiouser and curiouser…_

What appeared to be a giant, brown, rabbit-like creature lay sprawled inside. It's proportions and size were vaguely human, but its hands more closely resembled paws than human appendages, and its feet and legs were definitely meant more for hopping and bounding than human locomotion. A tuft of blonde, human hair shot up from its brown fur on the top of its head.

Despite its…curious appearance, the sounds he heard emanating from it were definitely human.

_It looks like a March Hare…_

He gazed upon it for a few seconds.

Slowly, his lips stretched into a wide, toothy grin.

_And why shouldn't it be?_

He giggled to himself, and reached for a phone in his pocket.

"Deever, my lad?" he said. "We're moving the pick-up point. Meet me at Park Row."

When his goon on the other end affirmed he and his cousin would be there shortly, he replaced his cellular device and smiled with fascination at the creature in the dumpster, running a hand over its dirty brown fur.

"'WiLl YoU, wOn'T yOu, WiLl YoU, wOn'T yOu…WoN't YoU jOiN tHe DaNcE?'"


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Um...hello? If anyone is reading this, please, review...for one thing, it makes me feel sad and awkward when I don't see any reviews. Secondly, I've noticed a pattern: No reviews = no updates on a chaptered story. Now, in my case, there's no guarantee when I GET reviews that an update will come soon, but I'm more likely to update a story when it has at least three reviews than when it has none. (Speaking of which, if any of you are a fan of my _Star Trek_ story _The Grayscale_, an update on that will be up soon. Not TODAY, but soon.) So, please, review...pretty please? With purple cookies on top...?

There are several references in this chapter: all of the book titles mentioned here are real; they belong, respectively, to Melanie Benjamin, Stuart Collingwood Dodgson, and Frank Beddor, not I. All quotes belong to Lewis Carroll and Walt Disney (the latter being from his (in)famous adaptation of _Alice_). The Tim Burton film is mentioned...obviously, that belongs to Tim Burton, not me. Don't sue me, please!

And now...

**Chapter 2: Special Guest**

Martin Thatcher moaned as he opened his eyes.

_Oh, Heavens, what a nightmare..._

He looked around. A cold shower of dread washed over him.

This was _not _his room.

He appeared to be inside an old, dusty library. He looked at the books and their titles, and was surprised to find that most of the books were various copies of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass_, at least half of these being in other languages, including Spanish, French, and even Japanese. He also noted several books that were not the _Alice_ stories themselves, but had something to do with them, just from the title, some of the titles he saw including _Alice I Have Been, The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll, _and _The Looking-Glass Wars._

_Where AM I?_

As he pondered this, he sat upright in the small, rickety cot that he had apparently been sleeping in. He peeled off the blanket that covered him...

He stared, and gulped.

Where his legs should have been, he saw a mass of light brown fur, and what looked like rabbit's feet...

"No," he murmered. "No, no, no, no, no..."

He jumped up out of the cot, which shook from the force violently, and ran to the door of the building...there was a small window there.

He looked into it.

The face of a brown hare, but with eyes that were most assuredly his own, and a tuft of blonde hair – his hair – popping up on the very top of his head, between his ears, gazed back at him.

He heard a sob, and realized it came from his own throat.

The sobbing continued for about three minutes.

It wasn't a nightmare after all, it seemed.

The crying only stopped when he heard footsteps. He gasped, and hopped – _Yes_, he thought bitterly, _I can HOP_ – backwards as they drew closer...closer...

When the door opened, a large, round man in a derby hat and colorful clothes – mostly purple and green – was there. He eyed Martin with a sense of both disgust and caution...

"This way, rabbit-guy," he growled in a deep baritone.

Martin gulped and nodded, hopping forward.

The large, fat man walked down the hall, with Martin following behind him. Martin looked around, curious and afraid...everything looked old, and dusty...

_Am I in...a mansion, or something...?_

Suddenly the large man stopped.

They were just outside a door. The fat man knocked on it.

"'No RoOm...'" said someone from behind the door.

Martin's ears went flat in pure fear, and he quivered.

That voice, with it's up-down, eerie melody, could belong to only one person...

And everyone in Gotham knew who. Including Martin Thatcher.

"I brung the 'are to see ye, Mr. Hatter," said the fat man. Martin gazed up, curious now at how he suddenly adopted a (very phony) cockney accent when he spoke.

"Send it in," came the voice again, this time lacking the up-down quality it had had before.

The fat man sneered, opening the door. He grabbed Martin by his now-very-long ears, which produced a short cry of pain, and flung him inside, shutting the door behind him.

Martin heard the door lock.

The lock on the inside, like the outside, required a key.

He looked up, standing straight.

A long, battered table stood before him. It was covered by a plain white tablecloth, and it was set with several chairs. Before each seat was a small plate, along with a teaspoon, a teacup, and a saucer for the cup to sit upon, as well as two napkins. The table's center was set with two teapots, one on each end, a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a jug of creamer, two sticks of butter, a loaf of brown bread, a loaf of white bread, and a plate that was covered in sliced plum-cake. Candles on the table provided the room with light.

And, as Martin had thought – and feared – at the end of the table sat a short little man, dressed in a brown waistcoat, a checkered vest, a black-and-red spotted bow tie, gray gloves, and a tall, dark green top hat with a black leather hatband. In this band was stuck a tag that read, in beautiful cursive print, "In this style, 10/6."

Martin immediately recalled the name of the figure at the table, without ever seeing his face, which was shadowed by the candlelight and the brim of his hat: this was Jervis Tetch, the malevolent Mad Hatter, one of the so-called "Gotham Rogues" who was regularly incarcerated in Arkham Asylum.

Martin felt his heart beat quicken even more than it had already been...he knew next to nothing about the Mad Hatter, other than what he had heard on news reports and in the papers: a maniac obsessed with the works of Lewis Carroll, to the point where he had difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality...he was often heard on the news quoting the works of his muse and madness in the same up-down voice Martin had heard earlier.

Martin could not see the Hatter's face, save for his mouth. It was turned upwards in a grin, revealing his buckteeth. The Hatter held a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other.

"'TaKe SoMe MoRe TeA,'" the Hatter practically purred, gesturing with the cup that his guest could sit down.

Martin blinked. His mind was racing...what did he do now? The Hatter probably wouldn't poison him...he was drinking the same tea...but still...

He saw the grin vanish.

"'TaKe. SoMe. MoRe. TeA," he said again, a little more forcefully.

Martin gulped (again), and took a step forward...

**"'TaKe. SoMe. MoRe. TeA!'"** Tetch snarled, slamming his cup down and rising in his seat, stopping Martin in his tracks.

Martin stopped, confused and frightened by the outburst.

Then, after a second, he realized what he was supposed to do.

"I...'I haven't had any yet, so I can't very well take more.'"

The Hatter remained standing in his chair for a moment, then exhaled deeply and sat down again.

Martin sighed with relief.

"Close enough," the Mad Hatter grumbled. "'YoU mAy _SiT_ dOwN.'"

Martin did so.

The Hatter watched him silently, sipping from his teacup.

"'WhO aRe YoU?'" he said after a while, and took a bite of his bread-and-butter.

"'Why, I...I hardly know sir. I-I-I've changed so many times since this m-morning, you see...'"

"'I DoN't SeE,'" was the flat response.

There was a pause. Martin felt the Hatter's gaze upon him, nervously looking down, hare ears flat agains his neck and back. He looked down at his humanoid paws, and, quivering, took up a teacup and filled it with tea.

He could almost HEAR the Hatter's smile as it spread slowly across his face while he took a sip.

Martin felt a small light go on somewhere in his mind. This was very good...

"'WhAt'S yOuR nAmE, cHiLd?'" asked the Hatter, and took another sip of his own tea.

Martin bit his lip, hesitant, then said, "My...my name is Martin Thatcher."

The Hatter said nothing. Martin shivered and bowed his head...he couldn't see the Hatter's eyes, but he could feel them watching him.

"'So YoU tHiNk YoU'rE cHaNgEd, Do YoU?'"

"I..." Martin began, then stopped.

He had never read the _Alice _books...he had always loved Disney films, and the film they made of _Alice_ WAS his favorite...he could recite the entire movie from memory.

But THAT line was nowhere in the film...

He shuddered.

The Mad Hatter, meanwhile, waited patiently for his guest to speak, finishing off the bread-and-butter and licking his fingers once he had.

Martin took a deep breath, and improvised, hoping he would satisfy the madman...

"I'm afraid I am," he said softly, then added "sir" for good measure.

The Mad Hatter's grin grew a little wider.

"'ExPlAiN yOuRsElF,'" he said.

Martin sighed with relief.

"'I can't explain myself, sir, because I'm not myself, you know.'"

The Hatter frowned.

"'ThAt Is NoT sAiD rIgHt,'" he said in a dark, warning voice.

"'W-well I c-can't put it any more c-c-clearly, for it isn't clear t-to me...'"

The Hatter was silent for a moment. He took a last sip, then eyed the empty cup with a sneer on his lips. Martin watched, surprised, as he _took a bite out of the cup,_ chewed it audibly, and then swallowed.

Martin gazed at his own cup and, experimentally, tried to do the same...

There was a snap, and part of the cup was in his mouth.

He was startled, of course, but then realized what happened when he tasted the "porcelain" on his tongue.

_It's sugar! It's hard sugar, like they use in the movies to make shattering bottles and dishes without hurting anyone on set!_

The Hatter sighed loudly.

"You've never read Carroll's word before, have you?" he asked.

Martin was truly grateful that the Mad Hatter was speaking normally now.

"N-no, sir."

"Just seen the Disney film, eh?"

"Well...the Tim Burton movie, as well, and a few others, but...the original Disney is my favorite..."

The Hatter sniffed.

"Disney's folly gets far too much attention," he said disdainfully. "It's good, for what it is, and I enjoy it when I watch it, but there are better versions of my world's legend out there."

So saying, he took another bite out of the teacup.

"Are...are you going to kill me?" asked Martin, unable to hold back the thought any longer.

The Hatter turned his head toward him fast. Even though Martin could not see his eyes, he could tell he was shocked.

"KILL you?" he gasped, truly mortified by the sound of it. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Y-you're the Mad Hatter, right? Or...or is it Mr. T-Tetch?"

There was another pause, and another sigh from Tetch.

"I am what I am," he said simply. "But I do not kill children."

Here he smirked.

"Or March Hares, for that matter."

Martin lowered his gaze. He was thankful that the Hatter seemed uninterested in taking his life, but...the endearment was another matter...

The Mad Hatter cocked his head to one side, curious by his guest's apparent sadness.

"I repeat: ExPlAiN yOuRsElF. I'm assuming you haven't always looked like this."

Martin gulped.

"I...I'm not a March Hare...I'm just..."

He sobbed again.

The Mad Hatter watched with interest. Within a matter of minutes, his new guest had actually cried himself to sleep.

After a moment, he pressed a button under the table.

"Tweedledee?" he called out to the open air.

"Yeah, boss?" came the voice of the fat man.

"Come back for our little hare," he said. "And be gentle with him...he's a tired little bunny."

"Aye, boss."

The intercom shut off.

The Hatter leaned his head in both hands, watching his sleeping guest with thoughtful eyes.

"What happened to you, Marchy?" he muttered. "I wish you had told me...funny how the sedative in the tea didn't take hold until I got up to that point. Perhaps whatever made you this way did that to you..."

He sighed.

"Well, you know what they say," he then said brightly. "All good things to those who wait!"


End file.
